Under the Moon
by Saoirse7
Summary: Coming against another man was very different than destroying a horde of evil beasts, I had learned. But sometimes, war was inevitable. Golden Age. Rated T just to be safe.


**Disclaimer: If I owned Narnia, I wouldn't be writing on fanfiction, now would I?**

The Calormene came around the rock where I sat, breathing hard, his ivory teeth gleaming maliciously and in stark contrast to his dark skin and scraggly black beard. His ugly scimitar shimmered in the moonlight, and as I glanced sidewise at it, I noticed it was dripping with blood. I didn't want to know whose.

Swallowing convulsively, and sending a prayer towards the Great Lion for strength, I pushed myself away from the stone, drawing in a sharp breath as pain shot through my forearm and ran down my spine. Only then did I remember the injury that another of those cursed southerners had given me not long after the fight began, and why I had been against the rock to begin with. He had ambushed me from behind, and I barely had time to swing my sword around to clash his before I would have been put out from the battle altogether.

Shoving the memory out of my mind, I pressed on, forcing myself to get up to engage this Calormene in combat, sword against scimitar flashing under the giant moon.

Out away from the large boulder that had been my protection for only a short while, I saw my dwindling troops fighting for their lives in the midst of the trees. All I could hear were the grunts and cries of the wounded, and the angry sound of metal beating against metal.

I gazed into the ebony eyes of my foe, finding it strange that I had no fear, nor anger, in my heart towards him. He was merely a son of perdition, who knew no better. Now, I did wish that he and his other southern brethren would cease from invading my beloved Narnia, but, seeing as this was not a viable option, I collected myself and my army and fought every time they decided they needed a diversion, for surely conquering Narnia held no real value for them.

A decisive stroke through his heart, and I stepped away, hands shaking from the tension and exertion of the moment. War was never an easy thing, and coming against another man was very different than destroying a horde of evil beasts.

Instinctively, I scanned my meager troops for my brother, the one who was always at my side, no matter where we went, the one who had ridden out with me when we heard of the Calormene invasion. It was hard to tell anything, even with the mostly full moon, but still I searched frantically for any sign of him, thinking that surely, in spite of the dim light, I would be able to tell his gait and manner anywhere.

Not seeing much of anything besides blood and anguish, I clambered down from the slight hill that was my enemy's final resting place, and began to run to join my forces against the invaders.

Suddenly, I slipped on the dew-soaked grass in my haste to reach my friends and fellow Narnians. I bit back a curse as I landed hard on my injured arm, causing pain to once more ricochet through my person. Getting up wasn't quite as easy this time, but an unexpected hand shot in front of me, hoisting me to my feet. My eyes flicked up to my ally's face, my surprise evident. A satyr that I couldn't remember the name of off the top of my head was smiling down at me, and I couldn't help but grin back. That was what made Narnia the place it was. When everyone lived to please the Lion, it made the difference. He was probably just happy that he had been given the chance to serve his king, but to me, he was a lifesaver. I breathed my thanks, and we continued together to join the rest of our small army.

I still hadn't caught a glimpse of my brother, and worry began to nibble at my subconscious. What if he was hidden away in some small alcove, his life blood draining out of him? I took a deep breath to steady myself. No. I couldn't let my overwrought imaginations take control of this situation. It was already complicated enough as it was, without me adding problems that likely didn't even exist. Taking another deep breath, I raised my sword high, running directly at a Calormene with a mighty yell. He whirled, and our weapons connected with a dark clash, and for a moment our faces were so close that I could smell his rancid breath, before I spun away. We continued our grotesque dance for several minutes, a swift swipe and the answering parry, another swipe and near brush with death, the following block as his scimitar neared too close for comfort to my throat. I threw my head back, trusting my battle instinct to carry me through, thanking the Lion for the umpteenth time for Oreius' careful training.

My heart thudded against my ribs as I defeated that enemy and moved on.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw another pair engaged in the twisted tango that we had termed war. What caught my attention was not that a Narnian was fighting another Calormene, but the identity of that Narnian. My brother. I turned just in time to see the southerner's bloody blade slice through the dwarf-made armor around his abdomen. Seemingly frozen in time, I watched, wide-eyed, as the reaction hit my brother's face, and he blanched whiter than he already was as he crumpled to the ground.

I screamed his name, running toward him, but even though I'm sure I was going as fast as I could, I felt like I was running through water. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I raced against the seconds to reach him and bring the fate-deciding blow onto his attacker—I don't think that southern dog even knew what hit him.

Dropping to my knees onto the wet ground beside my brother and the dead Calormene, I gathered my brother into my arms, desperately wishing for Lucy's cordial. Funny, that thing was always never where it was most needed. I gritted my teeth, peeling his armor off to view the wound. His breath was coming in great gasps, and I knew that he was in severe pain. Already, his eyes were clouded over with shock and agony. "Just stay with me," I whispered. "Hang on." He nodded, although the effort was clearly almost too great for him. His belly was a mess of blood, and I grimaced.

"Oh, Aslan," I whispered through my locked jaw. "Help us." I ripped a segment of my tunic and shoved it against his wound in an effort to stay the bleeding, but even that was soon thick and wet. I don't know how long we remained that way, his head in my lap, my hand pressed against the gash, my other arm being squeezed mercilessly as he used it for stress relief. And—in spite of the pain it produced—I was more than willing to endure it for the sake of alleviating some of his.

Meanwhile, I glanced around me and noticed that for the first time that day, we were finally gaining ground over the Calormenes. It was no small relief to find more and more of my soldiers defeating the man who had come against them, and not being defeated themselves.

Staring at a non-existent point past my injured brother, I saw the first touches of pink appear on the horizon. Susan and Lucy would be furious if they knew that we had fought all night, but we had been given no choice. Apparently, our enemies were more comfortable fighting during the late hours of the night and wee hours of the morning than during the normal times of the day. I sighed. Just another proof of their twisted thinking.

With the realization that dawn was breaking came the uncomfortable sense of exhaustion. My eyelids threatened to close of their own accord, but I fought to remain alert—for my brother's sake, at least.

Suddenly, I heard shouts behind me—someone was coming in the distance! I strained my neck to see, but couldn't move farther than a few inches, since I knew that every shift I made would be torturous for the man whose head was in my lap.

However, when those shouts of surprise morphed into cries of recognition and joy, I raised a silent prayer to the Great Lion, who was always watching over us. The reinforcements we had expected hours ago had arrived.

Soon, the rest of the Calormenes had been driven back, and there was a flurry of activity as the new soldiers rushed to attend to the wounded and count the dead.

A few men surrounded my brother and I, and I caught snatches of their conversation: "A mercy he made it this long." "I think I've seen worse, but it hasn't been for a while." And then gentle hands pried my hands from the wound, and they hurried him away so he could be taken to the healers or be treated by Lucy's cordial, if it was that serious.

I heaved a great sigh and sat back as I watched them hasten towards Cair Paravel, tempted to give in to the exhaustion that threatened to claim me entirely and go to sleep where I sat. It had been a rough day, but visions flashed through my mind's eye of a warm, soothing bath and my bed. I praised the Lion again for the timely appearance of reinforcements, struggled to my feet, and followed the procession back to the castle.

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